


No Choice.

by malfoymoonrise (pinkandcurvy)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Other, Smut, maybe smut idk man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:00:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26189137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkandcurvy/pseuds/malfoymoonrise
Summary: draco gets slipped some truth serum as a harmless prank, but it affects him more than anticipated.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Drarry - Relationship
Kudos: 29





	No Choice.

It didn’t take a therapist to notice the change that had occurred in every student at Hogwarts. Though, with Mcgonagall as the new Headmistress, there were plenty of those - therapists, I mean - readily available to console any traumatized child in the hospital wing. The weight of the war had yet to fall away from their shoulders, as was visible upon any glance towards the survivors. Except, to some degree, Draco Malfoy.

This of course did NOT sit right with Ronald at all, he thought, fuming at the idea of that smug little bastard’s sneer. What he wouldn’t give to offer a right piece of his mind to that slimy git. He couldn’t of course, not with the safety policies in place after the war. Conflict was not tolerated. At all. Ron tapped his feather rapidly against the desk that him and Harry shared as he bubbled full of prompts on how to mangle and humiliate Malfoy to the highest degree.

“Would you bother stopping that, mate?” Harry’s nasally tone broke Ron’s line of concentration and Ron quickly complied to the request. It was probably a bit annoying. Speaking of annoying-

“Doesn’t it get on your nerves, Harry?” Ron blurted, dropping his feather and turning towards the bed where Harry lay. The latter’s raised eyebrow prompted Ron to continue, “Malfoy, I mean. His father’s in Azkaban for war crimes, and not only does he come back for the optional eighth year, he does it with snide comments and a sneer! It just don’t sit right with me,” huffing, Ron crossed his arms. “I think we should-”

“Ron, no,” Harry cut him off before he could even finish the thought. “The war’s over, I’m just grateful he hasn’t tried to befriend me or - Merlin forbid - apologize,” Harry shuttered, “The thought’s mortifying. Besides, there’s nothing we could do anyways.” Truthfully, Harry was fully grateful that Malfoy was just as much of a dickhead as he had always been. If they’d come back and Malfoy had become some repenting saint or some shit, Harry was sure that he wouldn’t have known how to act.

With a sigh, Ron stood, “Right then. I’m off to bother Dean in the commons, care to join?”

Harry nodded and kicked his legs over the side of his bed, slamming his unread potions textbook shut, “Sure mate, right behind you.”

\---------

The fire crackled almost inaudibly over the sound of laughter coming from the circle of eighth years sitting around it. Draco snarled and curled further into his armchair, rereading the same sentence for the fifth time. It was absolutely impossible to concentrate on nights like these; when the surviving eighth years decided it was worth it to abuse their privilege as adults and solitude in the astronomy tower to imbibe a multitude of substances. Draco couldn’t fault them for having fun, but he absolutely did.  
It wasn’t fair that he had a drawer full of uppers and absolutely no downers. It also wasn’t fair that he only had those uppers so he could stay awake for days upon days just doing excessive amounts of school work and extra credit, while all of his classmates’ were used for recreation. Draco honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d ingested anything somewhere other than his nose. Food was among the least of his worries, caffeine and water were about all he cared about, and those only out of necessity.

“Oi! Mal-foy!” A voice called for him, seemingly not for the first time, and Draco snapped his head to find the culprit. Ah. Finnigan. What in Merlin’s name could he want? (besides more alcohol, as he was clearly trashed) “C’mover here right quick, I gotta question for you.”

Draco scoffed demeaningly, “Absolutely not. I can smell the firewhiskey and slobber from where I am just fine, thanks. Anything you can ask me up close you can ask me from here,” he turned his nose up just a little bit, emphasizing the disgust dripping from his words.

Seamus seemed to consider this for a moment before shrugging. “Alright then. Are you a pussy?”

Draco blinked and cocked his head in surprise, “What?”

“I said, you bloody traitor,” Seamus’ words were slurred, but they hit Draco like daggers. The t-word was one he couldn’t even fight against and it stung him to his core, “I said: are you a pussy?”

“Er, no? What the hell kind of a question is that-” he moved his schoolwork to the side and stood quickly as he noticed Finnigan standing to approach him, “I’m not fighting you.” Draco instinctively brought his hands up a little, revealing that he was currently wandless; he threw a glance around the room to make sure that there were others watching, fully aware that he hadn’t antagonized whatever was about to happen. Making eye contact with Pansy across the room, Draco tried to breathe out slowly.

Seamus paused about a foot away from Draco, looking the blonde up and down. Draco’s nose was stormed with the scent of firewhiskey, and he had to resist the urge to scrunch up his face. “Fuckin’ weirdo, I don’t wanna fight you,” Finnigan grumbled, finally breaking the tense silence, “If I did I wouldn’t do it here. Anyways- if you’re not a pussy you’ll drink this,” revealing a glass from behind his back, Seamus grinned. 

If Draco had remembered how to laugh, he probably would. A fucking drink. Merlin’s beard, he really was wound up, “This is peer pressure, you know,” he sneered at the glass of firewhiskey, eyeing it carefully. It smelled like his mother. At that thought, Draco nearly refused - if there was anything he didn’t want, it was to end up like either of his parents - however, he reconsidered. It had been months since he last drank, at least three days since he last slept, Merlin knows how long since he last ate (only Pansy would know, she’d been keeping track since fourth year, when Draco had gone through a rather terrible bout of anorexia). Besides, half of eighth year was downstairs (though that wasn’t saying much). He couldn’t be a traitor and a pussy. 

Decisively, Draco snatched the glass from Seamus and drank it in two gulps. It tasted absolutely horrible, as it was normally the kind of alcohol used for shots and he had absolutely no chaser, but Draco couldn’t honestly say that he minded. His stomach felt warm and his face was scrunching, the most expression he’d been able to muster since probably sixth year. 

“Bloody awful,” Draco choked out, “Reminds me of mum,” his eyebrows came together a little - he hadn’t meant to say that bit. Draco shook his head. Perhaps the alcohol was stronger than he could feel and it was already taking over. He felt sober enough, though. Shaking it off, Draco went to sit back in his chair.

“Why don’t you come sit with us, Malfoy?” Seamus invited, all former friendliness gone from his tone, now replaced by something more sinister. Draco really, honestly didn’t like it.

Narrowing his eyes, Draco opened his mouth to politely decline, “To be quite honest, I’m entirely unprepared for whatever you’re scheming,” the words flowed freely. Draco’s eyes widened just the slightest in confusion, “What the hell?” Before he had time to question it further, however, there was someone coming behind him - Pansy, surprisingly - and leading him towards the small circle of eighth years gathered in front of the fire.

“It’ll be good for you, Dray,” She said, a little too loudly for his comfort, “Besides,” for this, she leaned in, lowering her voice to a whisper, “I think they’re up to some funny shit and I don’t want to leave you alone.” 

His first reaction was to be defensive, and Draco quickly pulled his arm from Pansy’s light grip. However, upon meeting her eyes, he knew she was right. The dorms weren’t co-ed, so it wasn’t as if she’d be allowed to stay in his room past midnight (which it was well past), and he already felt a little off, so he complied, slipping his arm back into Pansy’s. She was his only ally - no, his only friend - left at this school, maybe on this earth, and he wasn’t about to lose that. He almost had more than once, terrible mistakes.

The two of them sat down, Pansy with her legs bent to her left side and Draco with his drawn up to his chest. He’d overestimated his tolerance as well as his stomach strength, and had begun to feel a little nauseous, the heat in his stomach growing uncomfortable. Draco squirmed slightly and swallowed a burp. How embarrassing that would have been - even now, after losing the dignity to his name, Draco had enough pride not to do such things in public. However, he had farted directly onto Pansy’s lap numerous times, and had even once braved a burp into Dean’s face. Those times had come before the war though. Before they had forgotten how to laugh, before Dean had… Draco shook his head, not wanting to think about such things.

“What’s on your mind, Malfoy?” Draco immediately recognized this voice as his least favorite Weasley and a snarl grew automatically on his lips. He’d hated him plenty before he’d had to carry the guilt of having aided in the death of one of his brothers. Somewhere inside, Draco wanted to be able to apologize, but he knew that what he had done was far beyond apologies and guilt, that it was simply something he would have to live with for his entire life. He had used to pity himself and try to create excuses - he reminded himself constantly that his options had been to follow blindly or die painfully - but after watching his father rot in a prison cell and watching his mother drink herself mad, he had realized that pity wouldn’t do anything but kill him.

Not that he hadn’t considered the option.

“What’s it to you, Weasel?” Draco spat - his lips wouldn’t stop though, as more words spilled out involuntarily, “I’m thinking about how things were before the war,” his tone was blunt, but Draco’s mind was spinning. “I’m thinking about Blaise.”

Draco blinked, shocked. He turned to Pansy in hopes that she would have some explanation as to why he had blurted that out. Draco wasn’t even that drunk; a little tipsy, sure, but he still felt in control. So why was he not? Pansy seemed as confused as he was for a split second, but her eyes quickly narrowed.

Before Draco could ask her what was happening, Pansy had swung her head around to face Seamus, practically smoking at the ears. “Did you seriously fucking roofie him?” She hissed, venom dripping from her words. Pansy wasn’t typically one for conflict, no matter how big of a game she talked, but she would defend Draco to her grave. “What did you put into his drink, Finnigan,” She stood quickly, taking a step towards Seamus and startling him back. Dean stood defensively from across the room where he had been observing, but he stayed still, as did Pansy. “I will absolutely not hesitate to go find Headmistress Mcgonagall myself and carry you by your dandruff infested, home-cut hair just to see you expelled if you don’t tell me this fucking instant what you drugged my friend with.”

Seamus was holding his hands up, eyebrows and shoulders raised, “Oi- it’s just a joke! I swear it! Luna brewed up some truth serum shit accidentally and Ron and I thought it would be a right laugh to see Malfoy.. I-I dunno, get a little dose of his own medicine.”

“My own medicine?” Draco spoke up, he had also moved into a standing position, but was instead standing much more defensively, his arms crossed and his face bright red. “I have never in my life drugged anybody else against their knowledge or will for any purpose.”

“But you’ve performed the cruciatus curse, haven’t you?” Seamus spat back, his eyes filled with hatred. 

Draco’s mind fled back to the fight he’d had with Harry in the bathroom, and his hand instinctively came to his chest, tracing over his scar as he held his breath. “Not successfully.”

Seamus laughed under his breath viciously, “Can’t get your wand up for it? I guess you are a pussy then.” The tension in the commons had never been so high, Draco was certain someone would snap and either attack or intervene, and he wasn’t so sure he was quite ready for either response. He just wanted this fucking nightmare to be over.

“I didn’t really want it, so it didn’t work.”

They were both quiet for a moment. Draco felt like he was going to implode. He honestly couldn’t imagine a worse path for this night to have taken. It truly felt as if he’d ruined himself even more, something he hadn’t previously considered possible. “I’m leaving,” he stated simply, turning from the circle of people to leave. Pansy had begun to follow him, but Draco held his hand out to her, motioning for her to stay. He couldn’t fathom being around absolutely anyone right now.


End file.
